The Child Thief

away on the light breeze. “She’s right, Peter. There’s no other choice.”

“No,” Peter repeated.

“He’s turning,” Tanngnost said. “And if we wait until it’s too late, it’ll be worse for all of us. If the kids see him turn—worse, if they see us kill him, think what that will do for morale. We need to act now.”

Peter pursed his lips and shook his head adamantly.

“Nick is showing all the signs,” Sekeu said.

Peter didn’t answer. He pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and put his chin on his knees.

Ever the contradiction, Tanngnost thought. One moment a cold- hearted killer, the next a sentimental boy, always the eternal optimist despite a lifetime of tragedy. Of course, that’s his glamour. The very thing that draws the children to him, makes them love him despite so many contradictions.

“Nick is having the nightmares,” Sekeu said. “I hear him at night. You can see darkness in his eyes in the morning.”

Peter’s brow tightened.

“You saw him tonight,” she said. “He is having trouble controlling his anger. You know that is the last sign before they turn for good.”

Peter looked up. “What, because he swatted a pixie? Who hasn’t? The little pests will run over you if you don’t.”

“No, Peter,” Tanngnost said. “That wasn’t a swat. I was watching him. The darkness had him. He meant to kill that pixie.”

“I found one dead the other night,” Sekeu said. “Someone had crushed it.”

Peter looked at her. “What? No.”

“Yes.”

“He’ll beat it,” Peter said. “We’ve had others that went through it: older boys, just starting puberty, their bodies always fight the magic.”

“Yes,” Sekeu said. “But they do not go so far. One night, maybe two of bad dreams and stomachaches and that is all.”

Tanngnost sucked in a deep breath. “We can’t risk another Roger.” There, he’d said it. “Not now. Not with everything at stake.”

Sekeu gave Peter a hard look. Peter’s face clouded. He looked away into the night sky.

Tanngnost knew it was cruel to bring up Roger. He hated having to, but he had to get through to Peter, and with Peter sometimes this was the only way. Roger had been too old. Like with Nick, it started with the stomachaches, the dreams, then he began to have violent outbursts. One moment Roger seemed fine, then he’d lose control. He’d have that same confused look that Nick had: trying to understand why. Horrible thing to have to watch. Roger turned while out gathering berries. Sekeu told them one minute Roger was picking berries the next he attacked another New Blood, stabbed Sam over and over in the face, neck, and stomach. Sekeu had been the one to kill Roger, then had the task of putting Sam out of his misery.

“Peter, I will not allow it to happen again,” Sekeu said, and the coldness of her tone chilled Tanngnost. “If he shows any more signs I will kill him.”

“No. I brought him through. If he turns, I’ll be the one to kill him.”

“And if you are not there?” Sekeu asked.

Peter set hard eyes on Sekeu. “If it happens again…kill him,” Peter said bitterly. “Make it quick, but kill him. Tell Redbone, but none of the others.”

Sekeu nodded; she looked relieved.

Peter hit the banister with his fist. “We can’t lose him. We need him. If we’re to defeat the Flesh-eaters we’ll need all of them.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Tanngnost took another pull on his pipe. “Then it’s decided?” Tanngnost asked. “About the Flesh-eaters?”

Peter nodded. “What other choice do we have? Food’s almost gone. We can either try and drive the Flesh- eaters back or fight Greenteeth and Ulfger for the scraps left in their woods.”

“You spoke of a plan—a wicked plan I believe?”

Peter frowned. “Oh that.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m still working on that.” He stood and began to pace back and forth. “Picking them off one at a time is no longer an option. We will never drive them back that way. There’re just too many of them, too few of us, and too little time. We need a new strategy.”

“What do you propose?”

Peter nodded to himself, as though trying to convince himself of something. He crossed his arms over his chest. “An all-out assault.”

Tanngnost raised his shaggy eyebrows. “Peter, you know they’re too many to—”

“We’re out of time. If they break through Whisperwood all will fall. What other option is there? Tell me?”

Tanngnost could think of nothing.

Peter looked at Tanngnost with grim, determined eyes. “It is the end, old friend. One way or another, it’s the end.”

Chapter Fifteen Merrow’s Cove

Nick felt the heat swim through his veins like venom. The skin along his arms prickled then began to burn, to shrivel and turn black right before his eyes. Claws grew out of his fingers, tore right through his flesh. He let out a long, painful wail then saw them—three little faeries no bigger than birds—and his wail turned into a deep, hungry growl. The faeries crouched in the crook of a tree, quivering, frozen in fear, fear of him. He smiled, felt his lips peel back over jagged teeth, and snatched up two of them. Slowly, he squeezed them. Their eyes bulged and he felt their tiny bones crack and snap in his hand, their shrieks music to his ears. He bit off their heads, grinding their flesh and bones between his teeth, squeezed their runny guts into his mouth. Nick reached for the last one, the little boy. The boy screamed, only it wasn’t a little faerie scream that came out, but his scream, Nick’s. Nick heard himself screaming and screaming, with fear, with pain, with overwhelming loss.

Nick awoke with a start, drenched in sweat, his stomach burning. This time the nightmares didn’t fade. They’d been all too real, too vivid. He could almost still taste them.

Nick didn’t want to go back to sleep, afraid the dreams would return. He wondered why he was the only one that seemed to be having nightmares. He looked at Danny. The boy was sleeping like a baby. Danny had come in only a day or two before him.

Nick unlatched his cage and got up. The first light of dawn was creeping through the windows, setting the thin mist aglow. None of the others were awake yet. He saw a few pixies flittering about here and there, scrounging around searching for crumbs. They kept a wary eye on him. They’re scared of me, he thought. This should’ve been good, but it made Nick feel as though something was wrong with him, like he had a disease, something contagious, something horrible.

Nick stretched, surprised that his muscles weren’t sore from all the hiking yesterday. If anything, he felt spry. He clenched his fist. He felt strong. He assumed it was the gruel. It really was doing something to him. And again, Nick had to ask himself just what that might be.

He walked to the privy; the night chill still hung in the air and the cool stones felt good beneath his bare feet. He entered, heard hissing, and saw the two pixies nesting just above him in the rafters keeping a wary eye on him. Nick ignored them, dousing his head under the pump, and drank deeply, slowly washing away the fire in his stomach, the horrible taste from his mouth, then came back out into the chamber. He sat at the end of the long table and watched the morning light gradually fill the great hall. He stared at the straw men hanging in the